


Be Quiet And Drive

by grumblesandmumbles



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Gen, Moving On, Reminiscing, Road Trips, Sibling Bonding, Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 01:33:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5438576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumblesandmumbles/pseuds/grumblesandmumbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the criminal charges against Mickey don't stick, they're dismissed and he's free to go. Back on the outside, Mickey's world is still upside down, and he has to figure out what he's going to do next.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Mickey laid on the hard bed, staring at the bottom of the bunk above him. He wasn’t sure that he had slept at all the night before. His public defender had appeared late in the afternoon yesterday with some news. After being kept in County pending trial, the prosecutors had declined to pursue the case due to a lack of physical evidence and had dropped all charges. Quite frankly, Mickey was stunned. He didn’t think his lawyer could pull it off.

Dustin or Devin, whatever his name was, had been beside himself, practically bursting with excitement. Since the decision had come late in the day, the proper paperwork would have to be cleared, but he told Mickey to be ready to leave the following morning. Mickey had looked at him in his ill-fitting suit, his bleeding heart displayed on his sleeve. He was naive and thought every case would be like this, a beacon of justice in a corrupt system. Mickey didn’t have the heart to tell him that there was no real justice in letting a guilty man go. Secretly, he envied the young man’s ability to believe in good. He wondered just how long Dustin or Devin, whatever his name was, could sustain this.

Mickey had thanked him and had been led back to his cell for one last lonely night. There had been many by now. Mickey had lost track of just how many. He didn’t keep up with the news or current events. He couldn’t really care less what was happening outside the walls. He’d had a few visits early on, but as time dragged on, they stopped coming. Mickey was forgotten. With no one to keep track of him, he succumbed to it.

_Milkovich. On your feet. Time to go._

The voice of the guard resonated in the hall outside his cell. He climbed to his feet and waited at the door until he heard the lock churn and it pushed open. The guard was holding the handcuffs in preparation. Mickey stuck his wrists out. _Protocol_. A steady series of clicks as they tightened, but not too snug. He would be a free man in just a couple of hours. The guard was being easy on him. They shuffled through the halls, past the other prisoners, most still asleep. But jail was never quiet. On the outside, he had thought he was surrounded by sound, but he forgot how much white noise ran through here. The life blood of the imprisoned.

They passed through a number of corridors until they reached the administrative section. Mickey was brought into a room, his personal belongings shoved in a plastic bag months and months ago already waiting for him. He was instructed to strip. He removed the state-issued items, pants and shirts dropping to the floor. He picked up the bundle and placed it on the table. Mickey steadied his breath as the guard inspected him, checked his body, made him open his mouth. They wanted to make sure he wasn’t smuggling anything out. He couldn’t imagine wanting any souvenirs, but he knew better than to make a smart remark about it at this venture. He was so close to freedom, he could almost taste it.

The bag with his belongings was pushed across the table. Mickey tore it open, not bothering to take inventory and make sure everything was there. He didn’t really care. He pulled on his clothes quickly, shoving his personal items in his pockets and saving his coat for last. When he was ready, the guard led him out of the room, this time without the handcuffs. One more stop at the main desk to sign his release papers and he was a free man.

Mickey stepped out into the fresh air, remembering a time long gone where he had smiling faces on the other side greeting him, happy to see him. Now there was just concrete and walls and gates. Those faces tried to rise up in his mind, but he pushed them down, taking a deep breath and getting his bearings. It was still chilly out, but the sun was warm on his face. Mickey guessed it was late winter or early spring, maybe. He dug through his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He pushed the button to turn it on and searched through his pockets some more while he waited.

His fingers brushed soft cardboard, and he pulled out a mangled pack of cigarettes. He opened it and there were three in there, a bit squished but not broken. Mickey plucked one out and straightened it with his fingers, balancing it between his lips while he dug for a lighter. He brushed against metal and gripped it, pulling his hand from his pocket. He popped the top back on the zippo and flicked the wheel. The flame sparked to life and he touched it to the cigarette, inhaling deeply. It was stale and tasted like shit, but Mickey didn’t care. He examined the zippo, the dragon etched into one side, a gift from _don’t say it, don’t even think his name_. He buried it back in his pocket, along with his feelings. Finally, he started moving.

The phone finally came to life. It was almost mid-March. _Pretty close_ , Mickey thought. A search through his wallet turned up close to a hundred bucks and a Ventra card. He knows the closest el stop isn’t far, and figured he might as well take the train back home.

_Home_. That word had a much different meaning just a few short months ago. Mickey had no idea what awaited him when he got there.

\----------

Mickey walked down the train stairs and saw the Kash and Grab across the street. He deliberately ignored it and kept going down the block. It wasn’t like _he_ would be there; those days were long gone, but the memories weren’t. As it was, he was in the periphery of Mickey’s thoughts. The last thing Mickey wanted was to bring him to the front and center. When he reached the next convenience store, Mickey went inside. He grabbed a Gatorade and made his way to the counter. There was no interest in messing with the cashier. He asked for his cigarettes and passed over a bill from his wallet. He got his change and the fresh pack and went on his way.

He ambled through the streets towards his house, looking around to see if he noticed anything new. He wasn’t sure what he was really expecting, it was still the same shitty neighborhood it had always been. There may have been a few more houses that had been claimed by some pushy hipsters and their organic gardens, but otherwise it seemed relatively normal. It was always a strange thing when your world changed so completely and everyone else’s stayed the same. Mickey and his family had run these streets for many years, but for the first time, he felt out of place here.

His house came into view, the same eyesore it had always been. Mickey felt a mix of disgust and relief. He pushed the gate open and made his way up the stairs to the porch. He tested the door. _Open_. It was really a wonder no one had come in and stolen whatever wasn’t nailed down, but the fear their name instilled still ran strong. Mickey moved through the living room, past the kitchen, peered into the bedrooms. Empty, every room was empty. He had kind of just expected Iggy to be there, maybe Colin. But they could have been anywhere, really. On a job, with a girl. Hell, for all he knew, they up and abandoned the place. Not like anyone contacted him to let him know what was going on.

Mickey moved into his own room, the blanket on the bed still tossed aside from when he had jumped out of bed that last time. He hadn’t know then that he wouldn’t see this place for a while, of course. He looked around, his eyes speeding past that particular picture he had taped to the wall, darting over the clothes and miscellania that wasn’t his. Mickey shrugged out of his coat and tossed it on the foot of the bed, sitting down and lighting a fresh cigarette. He spotted his phone charger on the floor and plugged the phone in.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, no interruptions to give him any perspective. An idea slowly started to form in his mind, something he should have considered a long time ago. Mickey got up and went to his closet. He dug through the mess of stuff on the floor until he found an old duffel bag. He started stuffing clothes into it, shirts and boxers and jeans crammed on top of each other in no particular order. As he moved, Mickey felt like he was waking up, felt more alert than he had felt in months.

He went back into the living room and crossed over to the window, peering out at the street. He saw that both of their cars were parked outside. The classic one that he used to get picked up from work in, so sickeningly domestic, when he had believed for a moment that maybe it could be just like that all the time. The boring sedan, the getaway car from Mickey’s nightmares. He was taking one of them, but which one? Either way, he would be driving around in a box of memories. Did he want the happy ones, fond memories which still belonged to him but which were now tainted, or the even more difficult ones full of fear and worry?

Fuck it - The classic car had always been his favorite.

He moved his hands through the pile of crap on the coffee table until he came up with the keys, tucking them into his pocket. Back in his room, Mickey pulled out one of his dresser drawers, looking for a particular shoebox. He wondered if anyone had found it while he was gone, if they even thought to look. He pulled it out and lifted the lid. _Nope, jackpot_. Mickey pulled the cash out, a few thousand dollars he had slowly been squirreling away for a rainy day. Mainly creating a stockpile to pay for medications that may or may not be taken. He buried it in the bottom of the duffel bag.

Mickey thumbed at his nose, fighting the urge in him that was building, waiting to explode. Every aspect of his life, so intertwined with the one person he was doing his damndest not to think about, but he was everywhere. But the real problem is that he was nowhere, a ghost in Mickey’s life. He had removed himself so fully, as if he had taken a knife and literally cut around himself, leaving nothing but a hole in his place. If everyone else he knew had bothered to visit him, jail would have still been lonely for Mickey because of the one person who didn’t. Mickey was angry that he even gave a shit, but that didn’t change the fact that he did.

_Focus_. Mickey wanted to get out of the house soon, before anyone showed up and gave him shit about taking off with one of the cars, but he had been in jail for months and wanted to take one good shower first. He stripped his clothes and went into the bathroom, turning the shower on and waiting for it to get nice and hot. When he stepped in, he let the water scald his skin for a moment before turning it back to a more comfortable temperature. He scrubbed every surface that he could reach, feeling a little better with every passing minute. Those small little luxuries that you didn’t realize you missed until you had them back.

He finally forced himself to turn off the shower and get out when the water started to cool down. He grabbed the closest towel and dried off, cinching it around his waist as he went back to his room to change into clean clothes. The house was still empty, but Mickey could feel a building anxiety. His gut was telling him that it was time to move, before that changed. He grabbed his bag and the phone and charger, stopping briefly to check his pockets and make sure he wasn’t leaving anything behind. His fingers grazed against the metal of the zippo again and he pulled it out. He looked it over before tossing it on his dresser. He couldn’t bear to look at it, but he didn’t want to throw it away either. He grabbed a disposable lighter and replaced it.

The last thing Mickey had to do was a minor task, a note quickly scribbled and left in the door for whoever to find.

_I got out, took the car. Heading outta town, I’ll be in touch. - Mick_

\---------

Mickey made his way south, putting Chicago in his rearview mirror. The car was a bit low on gas, but he wanted to wait until he was a little further out from the city before he stopped. He turned on the radio, scanning through the stations and settling on a classic rock one that wasn’t bad. He turned the volume low, just wanting enough to do away with the silence that was plaguing him. A familiar song came on and he tapped the steering wheel along with the beat.

Eventually the need for food and fuel took over, and Mickey found a place to stop. He filled up the car and saw there was a small diner down the block. He wasn’t on a schedule, so he figure he might as well stop for a bit. He pulled the car into their parking lot and went inside. The waitress took his order and he waited, pulling out his phone to double check the address he had pulled up. It wasn’t but a few hours away. His food arrived and he ate slowly, trying to quell the nerves he could feel growing in the pit of his stomach. Mickey knew that his plan was a bit harebrained and more than a bit impulsive, but he hoped that worked to his benefit. He finished his food and left money on the table for the bill. A quick stop in the bathroom and Mickey was back on the road again.

\----------

When he arrived at his destination, Mickey parked the car across the street and turned off the engine. He lit a cigarette and stared at the door, watching and waiting. Periodically, he would scan the street to see if he saw anything of interest. It reminded him somewhat of the Southside, it was definitely a poor area. In a weird way, it put him at ease. People came and went about their days, not noticing him sitting in his car. The sun was starting to descend, twilight taking over and making the shadows long in the street.

Suddenly, the door opened and Mickey saw two familiar faces emerge. He watched the first one, feeling that dislike bubble up at the mere sight. He was leaving and she was sending him off. _She_. Mickey watched his sister, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she said goodbye. There was no kiss, no affection, just her watching as Kenyatta made his way down the path to the sidewalk and climbed into an old beat up SUV. She watched until he was out of sight and then she herself retreated back into their apartment.

Now that he saw her, Mickey was even more hesitant. He almost considered just leaving, at least having affirmation that Mandy was alive and well. _Alive, anyway_. But he had driven here to Indiana and he couldn’t just leave without trying to set his idea in motion. He lit another cigarette to give himself a few more moments before he went to try to talk to her.

He climbed out of the car and crossed the street. At the door, he paused with his fist hanging in the air. _Last chance_. He rapped on the door and waited. Mickey heard her before he saw her.

“Kenyatta, you lazy shit, you just left! Can’t you dig your goddamn keys out of your pocket or would that-”

She opened the door then, the sight of Mickey stopping her in her tracks.

\----------

They sat side by side on the one step that led to Mandy’s door. They shared a cigarette, shoulders bumping each other as they passed it back and forth.

“I’m glad you’re out,” Mandy said. “How’d you manage that?”

“D.A. dropped the charges, no evidence,” Mickey told her.

She reached for the cigarette and took a deep drag. “Sorry I didn’t come back to see you. That was shitty of me.”

Mickey shrugged. He didn’t want her to feel guilty, but it did sting that she had known and hadn’t come. He decided to brush it off. “I’m hitting the road, looking for something new. I’m done with the Southside and all the bullshit. You should come with me. I want you to come with me.”

“Where you gonna go?” Mandy asked.

“Dunno yet,” he replied honestly. “Kinda thought I’d just pick a direction and see what comes up. Come with me.”

Mandy was clearly hesitant about the idea. “I got my job, and Kenyatta…”

“Fuck him,” Mickey said, unable to stop the heat in his voice. He stopped himself, not wanting to push Mandy away again. But she stayed silent and that’s when Mickey decided that he had to dig in, had to _try_. “Shit, are you gonna be like Mom? Chain yourself to someone who’s no good, have a bunch of kids you resent because you’re stuck?”

“Stop it,” she whispered.

“Fuck that,” Mickey emphasized. “Sis, please. Don’t do this. Come with me. I shoulda tried harder for you to stay when you left Chicago. Now I’m asking you to go. With me.”

Mandy was quiet, turning over his words. She got up to go inside, silencing Mickey with her hand when he started to protest. She went inside and shut the door. He sat on the step, lighting another cigarette and waiting to see if Mandy came back. The minutes ticked by slowly. Mickey smoked the cigarette all the way down to the filter before he tossed it and lit another one. He was nearly done with it when the door opened behind him.

She emerged with a suitcase and a small safe in her hands. She placed it down on the step and pulled a hammer from where she had tucked it into her pocket. She held it out to him. “Wanna help do the honors?”

Curious, Mickey took the hammer and looked at the safe. He’d broken a lock or two in his day, but it wasn’t always the easiest task. This wasn’t a high tech safe, but it looked sturdy enough. He lined up the hammer and pulled back, striking down and hitting the knob. It knocked it a bit askew, but didn’t break it fully. He reared back and swung down again. This time, the knob flew off and he was able to break the door open.

Mandy reached in and took out the money, counting it up. “Three grand. Not bad.”

“You couldn’t just use the combination?” Mickey asked sarcastically.

She averted her eyes. “Not like he gave me that info. Much easier to control someone when you control the money.”

Mickey felt the guilt pooling in his stomach. “Mands-”

“Stop,” she interrupted with a head shake. “That’s exactly why we’re leaving. No need to rehash it. Take my suitcase to the car, I have more shit inside I wanna get before we go.”

Mandy picked up the broken remnants of the safe and brought them inside before Mickey could respond. He grabbed the bag and did as she asked. Mandy returned with another bag and her purse. She locked the door and tossed the keys down in the gutter when they reached the street. When she held her hand out, a request for the car keys, Mickey handed them to her. _Fuck it, let her go first_. They decided to head west.

It was full dark now. Mickey gazed out the window, not able to see much in the way of their surroundings, but there was nowhere else to look. It was quiet, the low din of the radio the only noise in the car, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It just felt good to be sitting beside his sister again. As the miles passed by them, Mickey could feel himself getting a bit tired.

Mandy broke the silence. “So what the fuck happened with you and Ian?”

Mickey closed his eyes and leaned his head on the window, huffing a sigh. “Be quiet and drive.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Tell me again why we’re doing this.” Mickey griped to his sister.

The two of them were huddled together in the backseat of the car under a blanket, pulled over on a dirt road Mandy had found. After they had taken off together, they had stopped for some snacks and cigarettes, but Mandy had other ideas. She had collected a shopping cart full of supplies, ignoring Mickey’s questions and handing the cashier a wad of money. They had driven on for awhile until Mandy pulled the car off the road and decided they were camping out for the night.

“Have some sense of adventure!” She admonished him.

Mickey lit a cigarette blowing a puff of smoke out of the slightly cracked open window. “Just sayin’, we could be comfortable in a hotel or somethin’.”

“And we’ll stay in one at some point,” Mandy replied. “But I’ve always loved the idea of being out on the road. We don’t have an RV, but we can get by with the car!”

Mickey rolled his eyes but stayed silent. They were out in the farmland somewhere. He wanted to check his phone and find their location, but Mandy insisted that would ruin the fun. He wasn’t sure what was fun about car camping in the middle of nowhere, but it was the first time in many years that he saw something on her face akin to excitement. So while he grumbled his way through it, he knew he would go along with whatever she cooked up.

Mickey’s eyes scanned over the fields, rows and rows of crops lined up just so. It was early in the season, so he wasn’t quite sure what was out there. He focused on his cigarette, feeling cool wisps of air from the breeze outside. Mickey wondered how cold it would be to sleep in a car. He was lost in thought when Mandy shifted next to him. Suddenly, she was opening the door and getting out of the car.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Mickey asked her.

“I just wanna get out and feel the fresh air. It’s so clean out here!”

She stood outside the car, stretching her arms wide and leaning back. Without warning, she took off running.

“Fuck.” Mickey scrambled out of the car, not knowing where the hell Mandy was going.

She darted away from him, between two carefully tended rows, arms thrown out wide. Her hair floated behind her. It was the middle of the night, but the moon was bright and the sky was clear. Mickey was sure he had never seen so many stars. But they were dull compared to Mandy, running through the fields, her skin glowing in the moonlight. As she moved away from him, he could hear her happy laughs echoing back. Mandy was reveling in her newfound freedom. Mickey understood that.

But he stayed rooted in his spot. He wasn’t ready to run free just yet.

\---------

Mickey woke up when the sun started to get bright on his face through the window.

He looked over at Mandy who was still sleeping soundly, curled under the blanket with her feet tucked behind Mickey’s back for extra warmth. She looked so innocent and young. Mickey forgot most times that she was only 18, he only 20. He reached for his phone, figuring out where they were and where the closest diner was. Mickey was ready for some food and a new day.

He moved carefully, not wanting to disturb her. As Mickey extracted himself from the backseat, the blanket slipped, and he saw the faint remnants of a bruise high on her hip. _I could fuckin’ kill him,_ Mickey thought to himself. He slowly got out of the car and moved to the driver’s seat, starting the engine and letting it warm up for a few minutes before turning around and heading for the main road.

The closest diner was a real greasy spoon type of place. It was right on the side of the road, with nothing but a gravel parking lot half full of cars to indicate that it was in business. Mickey pulled into a spot and shut off the car, reaching behind him to shake Mandy’s knee.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” Mickey teased. “Get up. Time for some grub.”

Mandy roused with a groan, pushing the blanket off and sitting up. “Where are we?”

Mickey was halfway out of the car as he answered her question. “Found a diner, let’s go.”

She rubbed at her eyes and slowly got out of the backseat. After taking a moment to stretch, she followed him inside. They grabbed a small booth and looked over the menu until a waitress came and took their orders. The woman had no sooner walked away when Mandy’s cell phone rang.

“Shit,” she muttered when she looked at the screen. “It’s Kenyatta. He must have just gotten home from work.”

“Don’t answer it,” Mickey replied.

Mandy watched the screen for a moment before she silenced the ringer. The screen went black momentarily before it started all over again. After a few times, Mandy shut her phone off completely. Their breakfast arrived and they ate in silence for awhile.

“Guess I should change my number,” Mandy observed.

Mickey grunted his agreement and that was the end of it. After they had eaten and paid, Mickey found the closest cell phone store and they spent an hour getting her a new phone and plan, and transferring all of her information from one to the other. When they finally had that handled, they got on the road and continued west.

\---------

“We need to figure out a plan at some point.” Mickey said.

He nipped a taste directly from the bottle of bottom shelf vodka he had picked up at the liquor store in town. They had driven most of the day and eventually stopped somewhere in Small Town, USA. After dinner at a local chain restaurant and a trip for more provisions and snacks, Mickey had told Mandy in no uncertain terms that he was not sleeping in the backseat of the car two nights in a row. They found the cheapest hotel in the area, easy to pick out by a few junkies and pimps hanging around outside, and had gotten a room for the night. Now, they were each lounging on one of the beds with reruns of some crime procedural droning on in the background.

“Mmhmm,” Mandy hummed. She clearly wasn’t paying much attention to Mickey’s words, and he found himself annoyed at her.

“I’m serious, Mandy. The money won’t last forever. What do you have in mind?”

“I know that asshole,” she sniped. “I’m the one who always worked real jobs while you all schemed shit. I don’t need you to tell me that money doesn’t last forever.”

His defenses went up immediately. “Fuck you, I’ve worked a real job before. I had that job at the Kash and Grab!”

The words were no sooner out of his mouth that Mickey wanted to reach into the air and take them back. He did his best not to speak of anything directly related to Ian. It just made him feel worse. Mickey reached for the vodka and took an extra long swig, hoping the burn of the alcohol would distract him.

Mandy saw her brother’s distress and tried to apologize. It made things worse. “Mick, hey, forget it. C’mon, I was being a bitch. We’ll figure it out. Mick?”

He ignored her, taking the bottle of vodka and leaving the hotel room. He slammed the door just a little too hard as he did. Their room was on the ground floor and he wandered over to their car, leaning back against the fender and watching some of the people milling about. Mickey saw a woman heading his way and steeled himself.

“Hi stranger,” she greeted with a smile. “Up for a little fun?”

“You’re not my type,” he replied.

“But I can be,” she purred, leaning closer to him.

_Fuck._ The parallel between that and his conversation with Sammi at The Alibi was too close for comfort, almost worse than what had happened in the hotel room minutes earlier. With a shake of his head, Mickey pushed himself away from the car and went back into the room.

Mandy eyed her brother warily. “Mick?”

He walked past her and made a beeline for the bathroom, closing the door and turning the lock. He sat down on the edge of the tub and took a long swig from his bottle. One day into it and Mickey already wondered if this was a mistake. Maybe it was better, or easier at least, to keep that distance between them. But then Mickey thought about that bruise on his sister's hip, and all the other bumps and bruises, and he softened. No, it wasn't better.

Another long drink of vodka, the alcohol burning his throat on its way down. Mickey rubbed his chest as it worked into his system. He had been drinking right out of that bottle for some time and it was starting to have the desired effect. He tried to stand up, to look at himself in the mirror, and the whole world went into a stomach twisting spin. _Bad idea_. Mickey just wanted to lay down, just for a minute.

He sat back down and swung one leg into the tub, letting his body slide down and follow. He was dressed, but his shirt had the sleeves cut off, and the cold tub felt good against his bare arms. One arm dangled over the edge, his hand still wrapped around the neck of the vodka bottle. Mickey closed his eyes and his mind wandered.

\----------

_Mickey was nervous._

_He couldn't believe he had invited Ian to sleep over at his house. Not that Ian being there was weird in and of itself; he had been there countless times with Mandy. But she wasn't even there, having snuck over to see Lip at the group home._

_Mickey busied himself, pulling snacks out of the oven and arguing with Ian about the merits of Van Damme vs. Seagal, desperately trying to disguise the touch of anxiety he felt. They sat together on the couch, a comfortable distance between them while they ate pizza rolls and drank shitty beer. Mickey lit a cigarette and finally felt himself relax a little. It was just Ian, for fuck’s sake. Mickey stole glances over every so often, taking him in one peek at a time. The close cropped hair. The muscles that had appeared on his arms after Mickey's last stint in juvie. The way his shirt fit a little tighter than before. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, half in appreciation of the view and half because of those nerves still fluttering inside him. Ian caught Mickey looking at him and smirked._

_Ian got up suddenly and for a moment, Mickey thought he was going to leave. “Where you goin’?”_

_Ian gestured with his thumb over his shoulder. “Bathroom.”_

_Mickey nodded and pretended to pay attention to the movie as Ian's footsteps disappeared behind him. He took another sip of his beer, still in his hand since he sat down although it had gotten a bit warm and tasted even more shitty now. He ran his thumb around the rim of the bottle, lost in thought. Moments later, there was a flush and the sound of the water running in the sink. Ian came back and sat down again, but this time there was no comfortable distance. He sat right next to Mickey, their arms and legs nearly pressed against each other, save for the smallest bit of separation. He was so close. Mickey could smell Ian's detergent, his deodorant. He clung to the bottle in his hand, clammy to the touch, though he was no longer sure if it was because the beer was warm or if it was his own palms causing it. Mickey desperately wanted to rub his hands down the front of his jeans but he couldn't move. He glanced down, saw Ian's own arm in his lap, all those freckles. Ian was drumming his fingers against his thigh._

_Mickey felt rather than saw Ian shifting his weight on the couch. When he looked up, Ian was already watching him. He was so close. Ian reached over and put his hand behind Mickey's head and leaned in, pressing his lips lightly to Mickey's own. Neither of them move at first, until Ian's free hand came up and rested gently in the crook of Mickey's neck, thumb lightly tracing along his jaw. Mickey could feel a tremor from Ian, just a very light tremor, as they stopped for a moment and looked at each other, and it was then that he knew Ian was nervous too. He watched as Ian analyzed him, as if Ian was waiting for the moment to end. They were so close, right in each other's space, and Mickey fought the urge to run. Because he knew he didn't really want to, it's just what he'd always done. He allowed Ian to study him, didn't try to deflect or avoid, Ian's face was so earnest and Mickey just wanted Ian to kiss him again._

_On cue, Ian took the beer bottle from Mickey's hand, reaching over to put it on the coffee table. He turned his attention back on Mickey and Ian seemed a little more assured. They kissed again, Ian's hands slotting right back where they had been as if they belonged there. Mickey didn't know what to do with his own hands. He didn't really know how to be soft. Mickey was bumps and bruises, scrapes and blunt force. Tentatively, he reached out and put his hands on Ian’s sides, feeling the muscle over his rib cage. Encouraged, Ian leaned his body even closer, nearly pressed flush against Mickey despite the strange angle. He felt Ian lick against the seam of his lips, testing him, seeing if Mickey would let him in. And he did. Oh, how he did._

_Mickey let Ian push him back against the arm of the couch, let Ian lay over him, never breaking the kiss. He drank Ian in, savoring every touch and taste and smell. They had fucked plenty of times, but Mickey had never let Ian in like this. Open and receptive and pliant under his attention. Ian finally broke the kiss, both of them panting for air. His eyes danced over Mickey's face, studying him again. But this time his face broke into the biggest smile._

_It was stupid, Mickey thought, but when Ian smiled at him like that, he remembered this nature show that he saw on TV once as a kid. They had time lapsed flowers in spring bloom, unfolding to reveal their true beauty in a matter of seconds. He had thought it really happened in an instant like that, and had been utterly fascinated. Watching Ian's face, unassuming before his eyes lit up and the smile burst free, reminded him of those flowers. Mickey wanted to reach up and touch that face, that beautiful face, look into those eyes that looked back at him like he was exactly what Ian had been waiting for._

_But he couldn't. Mickey knew it was a lie, that he wasn't that person Ian saw. That one day Ian wouldn't look at him like anymore and he couldn't bear the thought of it. He reached down and palmed Ian through his jeans, breaking the intimacy of the moment. Said something filthy to divert Ian's attention. For just a moment, there was something so soft and understanding in Ian's eyes and Mickey's stomach churned, pretty sure Ian had him figured out. But it was just a flash, and Ian took his lead and started to unbutton his pants._

_It was better that way._

_\----------_

Mickey didn't know how long he had been laying in the tub in the shitty hotel.

He felt tears sliding down his cheeks, tracing down his neck and dampening the collar of his t-shirt. He hadn't cried for Ian in these past months. He didn't have that luxury in prison. Getting caught, having people think you're soft, it was all too much of a risk. Being sensitive, being weak, showing emotions… It made you a target. Some people found moments, but Mickey had a real brute for a cell mate and he didn't dare risk it.

But he cried now. For everything he lost. For everything that had been taken away from him.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Tumblr](http://grumblesandmumbles.tumblr.com).


End file.
